There was tremendous silence then—and I swear I could hear the fibers in the carpet moving and the dry wall drying or whatever it does—molting, maybe.
“What I mean is, Thora,” I said, “You don’t have to lie, you don’t have to think what to say. Do you need to cry?”
She nodded, and I held open my arms a little and she fell into them and pressed her head against my chest and sobbed. Just wailed. Like when she was a little girl. I can’t tell you how long it has been since I held Thora—she wasn’t the sort of girl one can hold. Even when she was a toddler, she started to get independent and secretive. So to hold her that way felt so good I almost started crying with her. For my own reasons. For the ways I had failed her.
She slowed down, but she didn’t stop for a long time. I watched the mist burn off and the sun come out, just holding her, petting her hair. When she could talk, all she said was, “Well you don’t have to worry about it because it’s over.”
“What happened?”
She shrugged but her face crumpled up and she hid it against my chest again.
“Did he end it?” I asked. Thinking, my God that boy does know how to pile on the shit—first take advantage of my daughter, then break her heart.
“I guess,” she said.
“Did he say why?” I asked, my heart pounding.
“No,” she said, “I didn’t even talk to him. I just saw him with another girl. I don’t know what I did.”
“Honey, I’m sure you didn’t do anything.”
“But why—” She broke off and started crying again.
“Listen,” I said, “Do you want to drink some coffee with me?”
She stopped crying and cocked her head to the side. “I guess.”
“What I mean is, Thora,” I said, “You don’t have to lie, you don’t have to think what to say. Do you need to cry?”
She nodded, and I held open my arms a little and she fell into them and pressed her head against my chest and sobbed. Just wailed. Like when she was a little girl. I can’t tell you how long it has been since I held Thora—she wasn’t the sort of girl one can hold. Even when she was a toddler, she started to get independent and secretive. So to hold her that way felt so good I almost started crying with her. For my own reasons. For the ways I had failed her.
She slowed down, but she didn’t stop for a long time. I watched the mist burn off and the sun come out, just holding her, petting her hair. When she could talk, all she said was, “Well you don’t have to worry about it because it’s over.”
“What happened?”
She shrugged but her face crumpled up and she hid it against my chest again.
“Did he end it?” I asked. Thinking, my God that boy does know how to pile on the shit—first take advantage of my daughter, then break her heart.
“I guess,” she said.
“Did he say why?” I asked, my heart pounding.
“No,” she said, “I didn’t even talk to him. I just saw him with another girl. I don’t know what I did.”
“Honey, I’m sure you didn’t do anything.”
“But why—” She broke off and started crying again.
“Listen,” I said, “Do you want to drink some coffee with me?”
She stopped crying and cocked her head to the side. “I guess.”
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Pretty intriguing.
Posted by: Lynn | 11/17/2009 at 10:49 AM